Chapter 200 – Spirit Armor
Dorneth placed the Damascus Crow I had brought onto the anvil and raised his hammer.
As he struck the metal a few times, the violet flames that had once surged high above the forge began to recede, as if drawn toward the anvil itself.
At the same time, the flames that had been recklessly charging toward the forge scattered aimlessly into the air, as though they had lost their way.
The fiery energy did not disperse outward but flowed seamlessly toward the anvil.
This wasn’t something he was doing for the first time.
“You handle the flames well.”
“I’ve been here many times. Ordinary fire isn’t enough to properly refine rare metals. The Witch’s Forge is one of the most indispensable places for dwarves.”
It seemed that a significant number of the ancient weapons stored in the Blacksmith’s Garden had originated from this forge.
“The Ring of Blood was one of them.”
“I’ve been using it well.”
“I figured no one would ever wield that twisted thing, but it seems every weapon eventually finds its owner. You and that ring… a match made in hell.”
“Are you calling me a deviant?”
The brief conversation didn’t last long before Dorneth shooed me away.
“You stay here. You, get out.”
“I expected that, but is there a reason Lochter needs to remain in the forge?”
“A weapon isn’t great on its own—it needs a master to bring out its full potential.”
“Isn’t that just a matter of who wields it?”
“For an ordinary weapon, sure. But this metal is special. Once its wielder is chosen, a bonding process is essential. Do you want a soulless sword?”
At Dorneth’s words, Lochter shook his head.
“My sword is like a partner to me.”
“A partner, huh? Now that’s something I like to hear. I’ll forge you a perfect bride. Now, grab those tongs and stand firm. It’s going to be a hell of a few days, so keep your wits about you.”
“I’ll be in your care.”
Their eyes met in an unspoken agreement before they immersed themselves in the forging process.
Reyna and Belin.
Lochter and Dorneth were now completely dedicated to creating the twin swords Lochter had named himself.
“…Excuse me??”
Clang! Clang-clang!
It was as if they had forgotten I even existed.
Lochter’s entire body trembled with each impact of the hammer. Watching him for a moment, I shook my head and turned away.
“He still hasn’t fully recovered.”
Even though he had rested for a few days, Lochter had pushed himself beyond his limits during the Battle of Blyer.
His body had been severely overworked, and full recovery in such a short time was impossible. He should have been resting, not enduring more strain.
“…But if I try to stop him, I’ll just look like the bad guy.”
His face was flushed, his lips curled into a faint smile as he gripped the tongs tightly.
Seeing him like that, I couldn’t bring myself to intervene.
“I hope it doesn’t take too long.”
When I had asked Dorneth about the forging time, his answer had been frustratingly vague.
A week, a month, maybe even longer.
I had wanted to protest, but the words never left my lips.
Because I had a feeling something amazing was about to be created.
Lochter’s twin swords didn’t exist in the original story.
And when I thought about the conditions required to forge them, the absurd difficulty became clear.
The Damascus metal, stolen after killing the Jack and Howell brothers.
The Witch’s Forge, accessible only with Elder Medeia’s permission.
Dorneth, a Great Master Blacksmith and a ruler among non-humans, had to be persuaded to forge the weapons.
If any of these conditions hadn’t aligned perfectly, these swords would have never been made.
That was Lochter’s twin blades—a weapon that could only exist under incredibly specific circumstances.
If I said I wasn’t jealous, I’d be lying.
Maybe it was because I had seen Lochter’s face filled with anticipation.
But somewhere deep inside, a craving for my own new equipment was stirring.
The Ring of Blood was perfect for me, just as Dorneth had said.
An ideal weapon for ambushes and survival.
But in direct combat, it had its limitations.
I had learned the Retonicalus combat style—a brutal, close-quarters martial art that used the entire body to kill the opponent.
A bow, which required both hands, was completely incompatible with that style.
Lately, I had been feeling the need for another piece of equipment—one suited for close-quarters combat.
***
“Why do witches always design their passageways like this? Isn’t this the real perversion?”
Instead of leaving through the entrance I came in, I exited through a tunnel on the opposite side of the forge.
At its end, I found a small well standing alone.
I peered inside, let out a sigh, and jumped in.
This was the exit leading out of the forge.
“Alright, here we go.”
As soon as I felt the sensation of floating, I adjusted my posture and landed safely.
Looking around, I confirmed that I had successfully reached the outside.
The first time I had left the forge, I had crashed into the ground so hard that I couldn’t stand up for a while.
Experience really does make a difference.
The weather was incredible.
A cool breeze blew beneath the shade of the Thousand-Year Tree, despite the warm sunlight streaming through the leaves.
I took in the view of the huts and pondered my next move.
“I’ve done enough preparation for power inflation.”
I can’t protect everyone just by getting stronger myself.
If the enemies were growing stronger, then my allies needed to grow as well.
If Lochter, Karl, and the others took a step forward, they would be able to carry their weight in the coming battle against Demtor.
“…Now it’s my turn.”
I had a fatal weakness.
My mana sensitivity was abysmal.
With normal methods, I would never reach Five-Star Rank.
Just as I had jumped from Three-Star to Four-Star by obtaining Retonicalus’ heart, I would need a similar kind of miracle to reach Five-Star.
“…I awakened at Three-Star by being swallowed by a chimera. Then I replaced my own heart to reach Four-Star. What the hell will I have to do for Five-Star?”
A sudden chill ran down my spine.
Would I have to replace my brain like in some horror film?
Or swap out my entire skeleton?
Even if the method appeared before me, would I even be able to go through with it?
This cursed world always seems to demand the worst from me.
[You whine, yet you can’t even fully utilize the power you already possess.]
“…Why are you picking a fight again?”
[You look pathetic.]
“I’ve survived by making full use of my abilities. I won’t accept the claim that I can’t handle them properly.”
[I’m talking about your innate ability. You’ve made no progress with it at all.]
“…You don’t want me to die, right?”
[And how is that relevant?]
“If I fail, I’ll lose body parts. Does that not concern you?”
What Retonicalus referred to as my innate ability was my power to selectively imbue energy—Enchant.
If I failed to properly imbue energy into my body, I could end up losing entire limbs.
This wasn’t ordinary training—it was a death wish.
“You expect me to train under conditions that could literally kill me?”
[Pain is just another experience. You’ll get used to it.]
"I'm not some immortal being who has enjoyed eternity like you. I'm just a mere human, a fragile creature. If I fail too many times, my mind will break, and I'll start fearing Enchant itself."
[You can overcome that through training.]
"The number of training attempts is the problem. No matter how fast my healing factor is, do you really think a lost limb will just grow back instantly? I’d need hundreds, maybe thousands of repetitions, and that’s incredibly inefficient. If I get ambushed while my body is still recovering, I might as well be throwing my life away."
[...]
"The training you're talking about is only possible if I had unlimited time, like an immortal. But a human doesn’t have that luxury."
For the first time, Reto fell silent.
It seemed that, to some degree, he acknowledged the time discrepancy between an immortal’s training methods and a human’s reality.
And then—
For the first time, he said something unexpected.
[Seek help.]
“…What?”
[If you're lacking something, learn from others. The witches might have a way to help you.]
“…That’s surprising.”
[What is?]
“I didn’t expect you to suggest asking for help. Aren’t immortals supposed to be… superior beings?"
[And look where that arrogance got us. Without help from others, no immortal can even set foot in this world anymore. We are not gods.]
"...What about you, Reto?"
Curiosity flickered in my mind.
What had Reto’s past been like?
Was he truly the Great Cataclysm, the absolute evil feared by history?
Or…
[I don’t remember.]
“…What? Why?”
[I am merely a fragment of the original soul, a remnant. I carry only pieces of the original’s thoughts, emotions, and instincts—not his full memories.]
So if I wanted answers about the Undying One, I’d have to find them myself.
But judging by Reto’s perspective on weakness and his acceptance of learning from others, it was clear—
He wasn’t like the other immortals.
“I wanted to hear about your first love, but I guess that’s out of the question. I’ll settle for the insight on my growth path instead.”
The conversation had helped me organize my thoughts.
‘Enchant’s growth will be my next challenge.’
And if I needed the witches’ help, I’d have to offer them something in return.
Clicking my tongue, I turned toward the Thousand-Year Tree.
Investigating the tree.
It was the first condition Elder Medeia had given me.
Unraveling the mysteries of the tree hidden by the witches had to be my top priority.
With my goal set, I started heading toward the tree—
But then.
I saw someone standing in my path.
Most witches wore wide-brimmed hats that concealed their faces.
But when I veered to the right, the figure mirrored my movement, blocking me again.
This one was waiting for me.
“…Do you need something?”
“I’m here to fight you.”
One sentence.
That was all I needed to identify her.
The Giant, Natasha.
Shit. The brute came looking for me.
I tensed up immediately.
She was just as hot-tempered and violent as Fenry.
And if there was one thing I knew about Natasha, it was that she threw fists before words.
“…What do you want from me?”
“I told you before—if you’re weak, you don’t belong near Lily.”
“…That’s why you allowed me to accompany her, right? To protect her?”
“Fight me.”
“I recall refusing that offer before.”
“That was when the Elder was around. Now, it’s just you and me.”
‘So Medeia’s approval wasn’t enough for you?’
If she were rational, she wouldn’t be standing here, fists raised, demanding a fight.
I noticed it then—
Her fists were slowly turning red.
“…I already have a headache, and now this?”
Lily, the walking disaster.
Keros, the second disaster.
Now, Natasha, the third disaster.
If I put those three together, I was pretty sure Natasha would officially earn the title of Troublemaker No. 3.
And yet, I had still accepted her as an ally.
Because—
‘I can make her as obedient as Lily.’
Unlike the other mysterious and unpredictable witches, Natasha was straightforward and blunt.
That made her easier to handle.
And she was deeply devoted to the forest—which meant she had plenty of useful skills.
“…I’m heading to the Thousand-Year Tree.”
“You can see it from here. It’s right there.”
“The Elder assigned me this task for the sake of the forest. I need to examine it up close.”
For the sake of the forest.
The moment those words left my mouth, Natasha scratched her cheek and stepped back.
“…Fine. Go ahead.”
She tapped her fists together, slightly disappointed.
The red energy around them flickered for a moment—then vanished.
And the instant I saw that happen—
[Seek help.]
Reto’s words flashed through my mind.
“…Wait! Hold on a second!”
“Knew it. You’re a man, after all.”
When I called out to her, Natasha turned back with an expectant look, raising both fists.
The red energy flared up again.
And in that moment, I realized something—
It looked just like Enchant.
‘The Giant’s Spirit Armor…’
The moment I recalled Natasha’s ability, an idea struck me like lightning.
Reto’s remnant.
He was also a type of spiritual entity.
And that meant… Natasha’s power might hold the key to unlocking Enchant’s next level.